


Latex and Roses

by Cynaera (LFN_Archivist)



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 00:46:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFN_Archivist/pseuds/Cynaera
Summary: This story was originally posted to the LFN Storyboard Archives by Cynaera, who passed away in 2012.





	Latex and Roses

It was the first day of a three-day furlough granted to Nikita by Madeline because of the complexity of the recent mission on which she'd acted as team-leader. No operatives had been lost, and the target had been secured, supposedly without incident. Yet, something had happened during that mission - something which had elicited a subtle change in Nikita's behavior. Madeline suspected a traumatic event, perhaps having to do with children, but she received no hint of anything concrete from the debriefing. Nikita's eyes had been dull, and Madeline knew she was internalizing whatever she'd seen or heard. 

Nikita strolled through the park, nibbling on popcorn with real butter, as she watched the crowds around her. Children clinging to parents or running loose and free; teenage girls getting tattoos or their faces painted; teenage guys standing, posing, trying to look cool... 

The sound of a child screaming caused Nikita to freeze in mid-step, her eyes wildly searching for the source of the cry, even as she crouched a little in a defensive stance, groping for her gun. She located the perpetrator - a young girl, about four years of age, standing alone, obviously lost. No sign of her mother, from what Nikita could tell from her quick scan of the crowds. She had taken several steps toward the small child, intending to comfort her and help her find her mother, when a woman appeared, swept the little girl into her arms, and hugged her tightly. The screaming stopped immediately. 

Relieved, Nikita felt her heart slow to a normal rate once more. However, that scream had brought back, vividly and horribly, the sight she'd seen on her mission.. 

*** 

A child, almost the same age as this little girl, wandering alone. Pale, skinny, ribs too prominent in the already-tiny body, the small traveler was looking for something or someone. No sound, no cries - just wide, frightened, sorrow-filled eyes. As Nikita watched from a distance, keeping her vigilance on the warehouse into which she had sent two of her team members, a loud explosion sent her tumbling head over heels into a ditch - a land mine. Nikita regained her footing immediately, then scanned the area. The little girl was gone. The mine had been detonated with the child's footfall. Nikita had walked carefully, dazedly, to the spot where the girl had been only seconds before, and had found nothing remaining but a shoe. 

She'd felt a wail of absolute anguish building in her chest, had fought it down, remembering her team, and had completed the mission successfully. But on the plane home, Nikita had curled up in a corner, hugging herself as if to hide from the horror, and had wept until she could no longer draw an unimpeded breath. No one had known - no one had seen her. Her team was sacked out in different places on the plane, sleeping. Nikita couldn't close her eyes for the longest time. She wondered if she'd ever be able to sleep again.. 

*********** 

Back in the present, she sighed, wishing she could be a part of this real world in which she moved. "I AM a ghost," she thought sadly, and slid a small handful of popcorn into her mouth. The realization of her situation was painful for her, but she tried to force it out of her mind by blending in with the people around her. She absorbed their collective essence by osmosis - they were *alive* - they had lives outside this temporary distraction, this minor diversion. They could go home to their families, their problems, their jobs... They could argue about money, quarrel with their spouses, discipline their children, speak harshly to the powers that be, hoping to make changes in their communities. 

Nikita swallowed tears and tossed the rest of her popcorn into a trash bin, suddenly losing her appetite. She didn't like the person she'd become - the person who'd sold out to the Section mentality. Instinctively, she began to plan a way out - as she always did when thoughts of her Section-imposed prison made her feel smothered and trapped - then knew it was useless. She'd been free once, and it hadn't been what she'd wanted or expected. She'd almost willingly sought any connection with Section because it had been the only life she'd known for three years and she felt somehow adrift without that lifeline. Ironically, the connection had turned out to be the terrorists who'd kidnapped her and used her to try to bring down the Section. 

Though Nikita had not betrayed the Section, she knew she was suspect. Even now, when she'd been restored to full status; even now, when she'd been given the assignment of team leader, she was still under Section's microscope. She'd run the gauntlet, not once, but many times. And each time, she'd survived - for reasons about which she was not quite sure, although she suspected... 

Nikita left the fair, her heart hurting, her eyes blurred with tears, her mind trying in vain to sort through the myriad of things that had bombarded her within a few short weeks. "I shouldn't have to endure this much pain!" she thought in anguish. "I shouldn't have to be this strong - a normal life wouldn't require this of me - not even an ABNORMAL life would demand it!" Suddenly angry, Nikita made a decision, based on emotion and not fact. She got into her car, started it, and sped away from the scene with tires screaming... 

Michael watched her drive away, his face unreadable. He'd been ordered to follow Nikita at a distance during the three days of down-time she'd been granted by Madeline, and he had carried out his assignment, in his way. He'd allowed Nikita more than adequate space, and several opportunities to slip out from under his surveillance if she chose. Now, he thought, she had chosen; in a sudden, sorrowful realization, he knew he had to let her go. She was experiencing something that only she could resolve... 

*********** 

Nikita had disappeared. She had no trackers on her, and only light surveillance. Operations was livid, almost to the point of having a seizure. "What do you MEAN, she VANISHED?!" he demanded of Michael. 

Michael stood, straight-backed, level-gazed, waiting for Operations to finish his tirade. When it seemed the man had no more to say, Michael said softly, "She had no other surveillance on her. There was no reason to suspect her of anything covert outside the Section." 

"Michael, cut the crap," Operations said harshly. "Madeline assigned you to her because you knew she'd break - you're covering up for her, aren't you?" 

Michael didn't blink. "No," he said softly. "I don't know where she went." He didn't offer more, and Operations didn't ask. He only paced back and forth, his eyes blazing, his manner angered and frustrated. 

"Find her!" he finally barked, and searched for a cigarette. "She's a liability to Section if she's unmonitored." Madeline had told Operations of her suspicions concerning Nikita's emotional stability, and he had agreed to allow Nikita some time to resolve whatever was affecting her. Her disappearance only confirmed his doubts about her. She'd eluded Michael, hadn't gone home, and was at large somewhere, possibly making a break for freedom once again. 

Michael didn't divulge anything - inside, he winced at the words, and prayed he could find her, at least to find out why she'd disappeared... 

Aloud, Michael said, "It will be dealt with." Nothing on his face to give away his feelings. Operations stared at him, wordless, unable to read him. 

"You have forty-eight hours. Don't fail." 

Michael gave a small nod in acknowledgement, then exited the "High Tower". Outwardly, his demeanor was unchanged. Inside, he was having a meltdown. He sought frantically for every connection he had that could possibly lead him to Nikita. He needed to save her life - but more than that, he needed to save himself, from the darkness of Section... 

After thinking the whole situation through, Michael realized he didn't need to call upon any of his resources. He didn't need to panic - all he needed to do was draw upon everything he knew about Nikita, and go where Nikita would be, without a doubt... 

************ 

"No, you took my red!" a small voice screamed. 

A softer voice gentled the confrontation. "Amy, there are other colors - look! This is Prussian blue - the same color of the prince's eyes in 'Beauty and the Beast!'" Amy was pacified, taking the blue container and sozzling her brush in it ecstatically, applying it liberally to the oversized drawing pad in front of her. The paint dripped freely onto the latex floor covering, creating a secondary picture to the one being painted on paper. 

Michael watched Nikita, unobserved from his position in the doorway of the huge room in the daycare center. He knew, from his research, that the place was a home for children who were unclaimed, unloved, abandoned. Worse than a foster home where there was hope of a future, this place housed children who had been given up for dead, left completely bereft, totally without anyone in their lives to guide them... 

He knew Nikita - knew she'd be drawn to a place like this, given her constant rebellion against Section's death-decrees. Maybe I know her better than I thought, Michael considered as he watched Nikita on the floor with the children, playing with them, listening, talking to them, instilling in them her own love of life... 

God, Michael thought as he observed, she's all I'll ever want... 

He left the place, his heart pounding, his arousal straining against his black jeans - she affected him in so many ways that he could not guard against all of them at once... 

*********** 

Nikita was sprawled on her couch - it was after ten, the final day of her limited furlough. She'd spent all of it at the daycare, where she had a room set up for her by the staff of the place. She hadn't wanted to be too far from the children - she knew many of them had nightmares, and she was determined to be there for them, if at all possible. Her latest acquisition was a large, creative painting, the primary color of which was Prussian Blue. Nikita remembered the mess on the latex floor covering at the shelter and smiled. It washed off easily, unlike the stains from physical and emotional injuries inflicted by the world... 

She was reading a book about the life of Albert Einstein as she sipped a glass of Pacific Mist wine from Knutsen-Erath vineyards - a gift from a friend she'd made on a short, innocuous mission to western Oregon. Immersed in the book, Nikita almost didn't hear the knock on her door. It came again, louder, and she put her glass down on the table, tucked her finger in the book she'd been reading to keep her place, and approached the door, honestly having no clue as to who the visitor might be. 

Before she reached the peephole, she ran down the list of possibles - peering through the small opening in her door, she was astonished at who stood on the other side of the threshold. 

"Michael!" she exclaimed softly, opening the door wider to allow him access. She was bemused and a little off-guard, but kept her reserve and her discernment. "Come in," she offered, stepping aside to let him enter. She hastily put her book on the countertop, losing her place - she knew she'd find it again. 

Michael was dressed in his customary black, but his eyes were lighter, his expression more relaxed. Nikita was a little surprised by his posture - he seemed stilted and more like a wooden soldier than a leonine, flexible operative. Then, she realized why his stance was stiff and formal - he concealed something behind his back. 

As he stepped inside her apartment and she locked the door behind him, he produced a bouquet of roses wrapped tightly in tissue - twelve deep red, fragrant roses, with one white one in the center. The white one made number thirteen. He couldn't meet her eyes as he handed them to her - it was as if he'd turned suddenly shy in front of her. 

Nikita took the flowers, overwhelmed by the gesture. The significance of the single white rose was not lost on her. "Michael..." she breathed, and as he leaned in to kiss her, she stepped away from him to put the beautiful arrangement in a vase and turn water onto them. 

She arranged them delicately into a centerpiece on her clear glass tabletop, and stared at them with such love in her eyes that Michael was slightly, temporarily moonstruck. All he could do was stand there, his hands clasped in front of him, without the roses to give him something else on which to focus. He'd never felt so naked before... 

He watched her - she lit candles around the room, turned off the lights, and quickly programmed several hours of mood music. Then, having done the necessary things to enhance the moment, she faced him. "Why are you here, Michael?" 

************ 

He'd expected the question. He hadn't expected the candles and the music. Silently struggling for the words, he finally said, without artifice, "I wanted to thank you." 

Nikita's reaction was instantaneous - she stared, open-mouthed, at Michael, and waited for his betrayal. She prepared herself for the next sentence - the one which would tell her to seduce some politician or terrorist; the one which would dash her hopes of a future with words like "It was a mistake..." or "Sometimes, all we have is our dreams..."; the one which would break her heart for the last time... 

The words never came. Michael stepped closer to her and took her upper arms in his fingers. "I saw you at the shelter today," he whispered. "You were giving life in a world where life is bought at a high price. You were giving hope in a place where hope is only a dream that can't come true. You were giving love in a world where love doesn't exist, except for money." 

Nikita was crying before Michael finished his words - she hadn't realized she'd made such an impression on anyone - especially not on the children with whom she'd interacted for the past three days. But Michael had seen - he'd known. And he'd come to her - to thank her... 

"Michael..." she breathed, and her arms went around him, her tears wetting his shoulder as she wept for those children who would probably never know a true family, who would never feel the arms of someone who loved them, who would never have any idea of what it was like to feel free, even within the constraints of the world in which they existed... 

Michael held her tightly, his arms around her, his lips to her hair, his eyes closed in anguish. Oh God, he thought, I wish I could just tell her... 

Nikita pulled away from him for a split second, long enough for him to register the love, desire and gratitude in her cerulean blue eyes - then her lips met his, and he fell into her willingly. Nothing mattered, for that moment - the roses were secure, the children were happy, having been with Nikita for a time - and he was wrapped in her arms, her body against his in unreserved abandon. 

Michael allowed all his defenses to drop, then, and whispered in her ear, "I think I've loved you forever, Nikita..." 

Nikita closed her eyes, too - his words swept away her doubts like cobwebs, and she yielded to him, wanting whatever he wanted... The world faded away as they kissed, and for that moment, they created their own paradise...


End file.
